


visible

by besselfcn



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Forced Prostitution, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:29:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23174716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besselfcn/pseuds/besselfcn
Summary: Sojiro's sons know their place.[Shimadacest Week 2020]
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Hanzo Shimada, Genji Shimada/Sojiro Shimada, Hanzo Shimada/Sojiro Shimada
Comments: 14
Kudos: 56
Collections: Shimadacest Week 2020





	1. black

**Author's Note:**

> Warning! This is a genzo piece (in 7 parts), but it is told primarily through Sojiro's eyes and contains depictions of abuse from the perspective of the abuser, including physical abuse and sexual assault. 
> 
> This is for Shimadacest Week 2020, written for the prompts: black | red | gold | green | blue | silver | white. Each chapter is a mini-piece that follows one of the prompts.

“I hear that your sons are talented,” the oyabun says, and Sojiro barely suppresses a bark of laughter. 

This man is not the first to make such claims; bold yet cowardly, forward yet hiding behind the twisted language of business and order. He wonders what this man’s own sons are like, if this is the way he speaks when trying to cement an alliance.

“If there is something you wish to ask in exchange for your loyalties,” Sojiro says, “then ask it. I have neither time nor patience for veiled suggestions.”

The oyabun raises an eyebrow. Sojiro turns his head to the side, his face remaining expressionless. If the man decides this is a trick and he declines, so be it. 

“An hour with your son,” the man says finally. “And you’ll have my men at your side whenever they are called.”

Sojiro pours himself a glass of sake, a private toast. “Which son?”

The man balks. He had still half-expected a sword through his stomach, no doubt. Sojiro drinks, and stares at him. 

“Your eldest,” he says.

Sojiro looks him up and down. “Are you looking for a fight?” 

The man does not answer, but his expression darkens. 

“Then it’s Genji that you want,” Sojiro informs him. “Unless the prestige of having your cock inside the heir to the Shimada clan for you outweighs the unpleasantness of fucking someone who merely lays there and cries.”

The shock across his face confirms it; this man has not done this before. He’s heard a rumor, a whispering that Shimada Sojiro will rent his sons out in exchange for a favor, and come to see whether it’s true and whether he likes the taste of that sort of power. 

It’s no matter what others say about it. A reminder to his sons that they belong to the clan and not to each other is never ill-timed. 

Sojiro beckons for the guard at the door, who steps forward and bows. “Fetch Genji for me,” he says. “Be sure he bathes first, and that he is told to show respect.” 

He looks at the man sitting before him; a little lordling, in over his head. He weighs the pros and cons of letting Genji slit his throat. He’s useful still, he supposes. 

“Tell him also,” Sojiro adds, “that if he misbehaves, his brother will bear the consequence.


	2. red

Sojiro killed his father when he was nineteen years old.

He expects one day his sons will do the same to him.

He does not discipline them so that they will fear him; the fear is a side effect, a warning sign of work yet to be done. He disciplines them so that they will understand him, and their place beside him. So that they will know that it is not yet time. They are not ready yet. He is not ready yet.

One day they will hate him more than they will fear him, and they will kill him. This is how a clan moves forward. 

For now, he engages in the spoils of leadership as if in the spoils of war. His sons are fierce, and grow fiercer. Stronger. There is nothing on this earth like taming a strength like that; bending a dragon to your will. Even their mother was not like the two of them, no fight left in her towards the end.

She was not a Shimada. She did not carry dragons in her heart.

His roar, always, beneath the surface. When he allows them free they burn scorched earth throughout the halls, two great columns of fire, seeking their kin. 

He lets them have a taste, when his sons are spending too much time at each other’s sides and too little time serving the purpose for which they were born. The dragons claw at Hanzo’s throat, laugh in ancient song where he curls inward on himself and makes himself smaller, weaker. Unprincely. He does not always need reminding of his place, but the reminder of how well he obeys always tastes sweet, like a battle won.

Genji needs reminding.

The dragons often assist in this reminder. With heavy claws they pin him to the ground while Sojiro busies himself smearing the outrageous night club make-up from his face. Genji spits at him; Sojiro cracks him across the cheekbone with a swift hand. He tears the clothes from Genji’s body; lace and leather, buckled across him to give him the illusion of a cheap whore despite the power that runs through him underneath. 

Stripped naked, pinned by ancient spirits to floor of the Hanamura temple, there is no illusion anymore of who Genji is.

Genji is his son. Genji is the second son. Genji is a problem. Genji will bend to him, even if he screams and fights it all the way.

Genji will kill him one day, when he hates him enough.

This is how a clan moves forward.


	3. gold

He cleans Hanzo’s blood from his fingers with a silk cloth embroidered with the old family seal.

“Do you understand,” he says, “why what you have done is a transgression?”

Hanzo wheezes. He presses the back of his hand to his mouth, wipes some of the blood pooling at the corners of his mouth. Sojiro waits patiently for him to catch his breath, to lift himself half an inch from the temple floor. 

“Yes, Father,” he says, in a voice as if he is barely listening. His eyes fix at a spot on the opposite side of the room. Sojiro scowls. 

“Look at me,” he commands. Hanzo listens, barely. Lifts his head towards Sojiro and stares through him in a poor imitation of awareness. Sojiro grabs him by the throat of his gi, drags him to his feet so he will _pay attention_. “Look at me,” he says again, with no room for disobedience.

Hanzo looks at him. His eyes are cold and empty. 

“You do not act but on my orders,” Sojiro tells him. Reminds him. Hanzo is not stupid, no matter what he plays at in moments such as these. “You are a weapon of the Shimada clan, not a man carrying out your own petty schemes.”

Twenty-one years of discipline and Hanzo falters still. Slits a rival leader’s throat in his bed when he was sent to merely negotiate. It is a wonder that any patience for him is left. 

But there is a fire in his heart, somewhere down below. If he could only temper it, the things their family could accomplish--

“Yes, Father,” Hanzo says, and at least now there is rage in it, not the absence of feeling. Rage can be directed.

“Tell me,” Sojiro says, “what it was that was so _important_ that you disobeyed orders so flagrantly?”

As soon as he asks the question, he knows the answer.

It is written over Hanzo’s face; across his skin. He looks away, cowed. He looks down, shamed. His breath hitches in his throat around a name, the promise of something unreal that he holds sacred above years and years of tradition, of power, of _work_ done that he throws aside like nothing.

For what? For _Genji_?

Rage can be directed. Sojiro pushes Hanzo to his knees.

This time, at least, he obeys easy.


	4. green

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! The sexual abuse in this one is particularly graphic.

Genji tries to run. 

Once, twice. A thousand times in a thousand ways. He does not have the decency his brother does to try the route he truly longs for; guards tell him of how Hanzo was found bleeding on the bathroom floor, and this is to be expected. They tell him how Genji was found in the bed of a rich businessman pretending to be a cheap whore, and this is nothing more than taunting. 

Genji knows better than to leave. He knows better than to think he would survive on his own. 

But still, Sojiro tries to show him. When he wants to play a cheap whore he can be treated as a cheap whore; given away to the most persuasive bidder for a night of fun, returned to Hanamura quiet and obedient. It worked the first two times, for a while; kept him in check until he got bored and restless again, the way he always has, and he had to be dragged back down to his place once again. 

Then he drags Hanzo with him on one of his half-baked plots to abandon their family, and Sojiro is done allowing other people to try to knock some sense into one so resistant to the idea of it. 

Their dragons fight in the corner, his snarling at Genji’s with teeth bared, holding her down with pinpoint claws and an intensity that sends waves of static through the room. He holds Genji, too--one hand at the back of his neck, the other holding his wrists so that he cannot move to claw or scratch in some animalistic instinct. He fucks into him harshly, violently--let him see what it feels like, not to be valued, not to be respected. Let him see what it is he wants so badly.

“You are a Shimada,” Sojiro hisses, between breaths. “The thing you are seeking outside these walls does not exist. This is your home. This will always be your home.”

Genji fights for leverage. He sucks in a deep, shaking breath as his teeth chatter. 

“Fuck you,” he spits.

Sojiro tightens the grip on his neck. 

Genji does not say anything more. 

His body goes taut, at some point, and then limp. Sojiro empties himself inside him before pulling away. His dragon is gone; his breathing is weak and stuttered, his eyes closed. HIs hands are curled into weak fists. 

Sojiro dresses himself and goes to the door. 

“Genji requires a doctor,” he instructs the guard. 

The guard nods, and leaves without question.


End file.
